No One Lives Forever
by SadMovie23
Summary: They have survived the Program, and went through hell and back. However, everyone dies one day, and Battle Royale winners are no exception. A series of one-shots about OC characters made up my me.
1. Dexter Worthington

**Dexter Worthington: Winner of the Fifth Annual American Battle Royale**

I don't have much time left.

They have already announced my name. In a matter of minutes, a rescue helicopter will come here, and pick me up. There's no doubt anymore. I won. The boy I just killed, someone I did not even properly know the name but blasted a hole in his forehead nonetheless, was the last contestant besides me. Everyone else is dead, and out of fifty people, I am the sole survivor. Right now, my parents are either hugging each other in joy, or crying tears of blood. Others, from other classes, must have their eyes wide with surprise, incapable to understand how a skinny, weak boy like me managed to survive three days in the biggest fear of every single teenager in America.

Many people are proud of me. I should be proud too.

But I'm not.

I have only one eye now. The other one was gouged out yesterday, when a girl I was trying to kill attacked me with a knife. I'm going to die soon, but I'm sure that I won't feel more pain than what I felt on that moment. She completely mutilated me. In retaliation, I used the same pistol I'm holding right now to shoot her several times, destroying her ribcage and turning her eye into a hole as well. She was beautiful, but now she's dead. Just like all of them.

The boy lying dead at my feet is not the only corpse in the field where I'm standing. Around me, there are four, two boys and two girls, stabbed, shot and bludgeoned in ways even I am afraid to even think about. And you know what's really interesting? I'm the winner right now, the champion, but it wasn't me the one who killed them. They did it to each other, and my only visible kill is this boy who I have just murdered. In my little season in hell, I've killed a total of four people. An OK quantity, but nothing special.

Soon, they will be five.

But before I do what has to be done, my brain decides to stop me. It sends me images of all the years of my short and miserable life, blocking the bad ones and only giving the best of them. When mother singing me a lullaby, many years ago. My first kiss, in middle school. The school play when I played a comedic role and everyone laughed. Me playing the piano at home.

I thank my brain for it, but I'm already way past its help. If I haven't been selected to Battle Royale, it would probably have worked. People do it all the time nowadays, they kill themselves over silly, absolutely futile reasons. After being fired from their jobs, abandoned by their girlfriends, or facing the death of a friend. Sometimes, when I read about suicide news online, I wondered if none of those people had good memories of life that kept them in this world. Now I understand why they went so far.

Because them, or at least most of them, were people like _me_.

I was never popular at school, but, like every other teenager, it had always been my dream to be as such. If I think for a moment, the reasons will come: I don't have anything that points for attractiveness. I'm not handsome, not strong, not optimistic, and most of all, not sociable. I never felt that strong need to be with people, to have people of your age and school by your side 24 hours a day. I was OK while alone in my bedroom, but not happy. Because no one ever told me I should be. In high school, a happy person is beautiful, popular, and not a virgin. At least, this is what the world says.

However, I still tried. During middle school and the two years of high school I've had so far, I was always close with the popular crowd. I sat with them at the cafeteria table, listened to their conversations patiently, and tried to fit in by talking to them whenever I had the opportunity to do so. They liked me as a company, now I'm sure of that. But they were never my friends. Not even close.

Yes, I did everything any internet forum would advice in order to achieve popularity. Still, it did not work. Because I did not live in the same world as they. Their talks were about parties, sports, and women. When they talked about it, I never knew what to say, and remained in awkward silence, listening and listening. Why? Because I wasn't good at these things. Crap, my first kiss happened when I was already fourteen! How am I supposed to feel after knowing that the ones from the guys I talked to happened before they even had hair on their crotches?

I begin to walk around the desolate field, contemplating the quietness and brutality of the place. I recognize some of the faces. That muscular guy over there, who was shot several times in the chest, I used to be his confident. That blonde girl who is lying face down with her throat slit by a knife, she was the one I wanted to hook up with at a party, but I was too shy to actually approach her. And the black boy who had his head destroyed by a hammer, to the point his face ceased to exist, is the classmate I'll miss the most wherever I go to. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. We shared the same interests, and I really trusted him. I don't feel as sad as I should, because I knew,that, sooner or later, he would die. He wouldn't harm a fly, I'm surprised he lasted this long. After finding his ruined body, I regret not talking to him more, not calling him to hang out with on weekends, not taking the initiative. However, it's already too late to change that.

I stare at the sun of the twilight, examining the flame of life that will soon by extinguished by the laws of nature. Night will come, my body will be taken away in a body bag, and life will continue as it was before. The government will call this Program a "massive failure", some people will riot, and maybe, just maybe there's a small chance this annual tradition will also disappear, like the last rays of daylight. Due to a single bullet, a single kill. What a dream, huh? Me, saving the world? Saving the lives of tons of other children? _Me?_ Maybe I'm in a dream right now, or better, in a nightmare, just waiting for my mother to wake me up, like she always did.

Mom, dad… I'm sorry for both of you. You only had me, and no one else. No other children, no living parents, no friends of your age. For you, I was irreplaceable, no matter how mediocre and common I was in my life. I realize I never really did anything to make you guys proud, and as I think about it, my only working eye begins to tear up. I just want you to know that I also loved you, until the very end. I could never ask for better parents, and I hope you manage to have another son before leaving this world like I did. If it wasn't for your affection, the care the two of you gave me, I would have succumbed to depression and put a bullet in my brain a long time ago, even before the beginning of this carnage.

You two are the only people in this world who will miss me after I'm gone. I don't have any other attachments, and all the ones I had before are dead. Please tell your neighbors, bartenders and God-knows-who that I was not a monster for having killed my classmates. Please do it in my memory.

I turn around. I can already hear the sounds of the coming helicopter. It's time.

The gun feels heavy in my hand. Strange thing, it's the first time. Since the moment I woke up in that classroom, shivering and trembling, until my name was said out loud for the entire world to hear, it was as light as a feather. This gun was my only partner during this entire game, the only "friend" I managed to find. My first kill was in self-defense, but the others were not. I realized that I had to kill if I wanted to survive, and so I did it. But guilt began corroding me, eating away my heart and torturing my wounded, fragile body. I was never made to kill. I wasn't made for this game, none of them did. They did not deserve it, and by killing them, I became a monster. I should have shot myself before, or at least died with honor and dignity by the hands of one of my classmates. I do not deserve to be so nervous. I'm a killer who's afraid of being killed. Something to make a movie of, if this movie was not set in real life, with real blood, and watched by millions 24 hours a day.

Suddenly, the barrel of the gun is already in my mouth. It feels cold and tastes like blood and iron, horribly. I think about throwing up right here, and my hands begin to tremble. It won't take long, I remind myself. It will be fast and painless. But still, I'm not ready to die. I'm as ready to die now as I was when the doors of hell opened themselves for my class, three days ago.

I stare at the sky. A flying figure appears. I see the reason why I have to finish what I started.

They.

I won't let them win. They already took too much from me. My classmates, my normal life, and my future. What will I do when I go back home? I won't look at my parents in the face. I won't receive any special price or privilege besides some money. I will be seen as a murderer by the entire society, and even if I move to a different school, no boy or girl will want to talk to me. Forever an outcast. Forever a failure.

The helicopter comes closer.

I can do this. For me, for my class, for all the other classes, for everyone who has ever lost a loved one in this game. Let this be a message to the monsters who rule our world. Let them feel the loss in their pockets, as the money they bet on me goes down the drain. I hope they feel the mass of people revolting against them, calling them murderers, pigs and animals. Until, someday, they finally lose.

I can see the pilot of the helicopter yelling at me, upon seeing the Browning Hi-Power that is between my lips. I'll let him see it too. I can't hear what he is saying, and I absolutely do not care.

Goodbye, everyone.

I pull the trigger, and all of my head feels like exploding, like a balloon popping. I feel a excruciating pain for less than a second, but it quickly fades away. I can't move my body anymore, my arms and legs have gone completely numb and useless. I look at the sky one last time. The sunset behind the helicopter is the last thing I see, before darkness engulfs it completely. It's absolutely beautiful.

My body begins to fall, and I don't feel it when it hits the floor. Now, I'm 100% certain that I am happy as I've ever been before. I did what no one else ever told me or pressured me to do to. If I could still move my mouth, I would be smiling right now.

My brain activity ceases to exist. But before it's flame disappears in the darkness, a final sentence comes to me.

I won again.


	2. Norah Agnew

**Chapter 2**

**Norah Agnew: Winner of the Ninth British Battle Royale**

I always wanted to know how dying felt like.

I'm sounding like I'm at the end of the well now, aren't I? Well, maybe I am. But things can always get worse. Many years ago, I used to be optimistic, even when I faced the worst moments of my life. I tried to see the bright side of things, to find the rainbow that comes after the storm.

Guess what? I didn't know how the world really was. And I learned it the hard way.

In The Program.

I'm in a hospital now. Not the best one in the world, but a decent place. It has large halls and white walls, and many doctors and nurses I talk to on a regular basis. I don't know much more than that. I barely leave my room. It's also very comfortable, although it often feels like a prison. Right know, there are several Londoners walking right next to me, men and women I could talk to, if we weren't separated by a window. I can't see them very clearly, due to the large black net that blocks my vision, but I still envy them. They don't know what fighting for survival is like.

And they can walk.

The nurse just came in. She's a stoic middle aged woman, who as far as I know, is the only nurse in this hospital who has not shed a single tear for me. She also does not talk much. I don't even know her name, I didn't bother to look at the card on her chest. She doesn't deserve my recognition.

A while ago, she asked me if I was OK, and I obviously lied to her. If I said that I want to cut the net with my bare hands, open the window and use my arms to jump towards the ground four stories below, she would probably sedate me and keep me here for much longer.

When the nurse left, she didn't smile at me. But she was interested. She analyzed me up and down, like if I was a circus freak. For her, I'm probably just an abomination, something that should not have been accepted back into society. And, as far as I know from my past experiences, she's right.

I can still become a successful person, even with half of my face burned and trapped in a wheelchair. I just don't want to.

Like I said, I always tried to be optimistic. And before I had to kill my classmates before they killed me, it certainly worked on my favor. I wasn't the most beautiful girl in school, the most athletic, or the most talkative one. But I always smiled. I think this is what made the difference in my life. After my first year at school, many many many many years ago, I became surrounded by tons of girls who wanted to be my friends. They weren't very successful .I helped them everytime I could, but because I was shy, they became nothing more than classmates for me.

Except for her.

Maureen.

She was the best friend I've had in my entire life. It didn't stop me from killing her.

* * *

><p>Another nurse visited me. She's different from the previous one, she's young, very pretty, and less experienced. She's not used to violence and death yet, I can tell by the way she screamed after seeing my face. She wasn't ready to look at me, much less to treat me. And yet, she's the person I'm going to miss the most after I leave this hospital.<p>

Her name is Clara. I've opened up to her, and now she has the knowledge of everything I can remember doing in The Program. I remember the moment when it happened for the first time, when I told her how I killed Maureen and her eyes opened as wide as saucers. Then, she put her right hand on her necklace, and calmed herself down. I never really believed in God, but her crucifix certainly gave her the necessary strength to keep listening to me.

It's a shame she's so naïve. Everyday, she reassured me that everything will be alright. That God is on my side, and will protect and help me to heal my pain.

According to her, He always forgives. Since I'm a good girl, the fact that I'm a killer won't stop Him from accepting me in His kingdom, after my death. I can see her good intentions, but I still think that she should go to The Program. Not as a participant, but as a shadow. This way, she could see all the horrors that happened there, without doing anything to change it. After those horrible three days were gone, she would agree with me.

God does not exist.

The Program is the living proof of it.

* * *

><p>After Clara's gone, my memories come back to haunt me. I remember the day I fell on the pecking order, from the cure and nice girl everyone loves to that fat girl in the corner. How could I ever forget it? The worst day of my life happened when I was twelve. And it wasn't a funeral.<p>

It was a race.

I had never run before, except in hide and seek games. And all the girls had to participate in a physical education championship for the fastest runner in class. I could have refused, but since I thought it would be fun, I took my spot on the race without thinking twice. I wish I hadn't.

When we were halfway through the course, my heart began to beat faster, faster than it ever did before. I cannot remember much of the pain, because the horrible feeling lasted for only a few moments before I fainted. However, I can still feel the moment when my legs seemed to get heavier on each step; my chest began to burn, and my ears, to ring. I heard a multitude of screams from the audience, and even from the other contestants who were behind me, before I passed out.

Later on that day, I came to know that I had a weak heart.

* * *

><p>My small room is becoming increasingly more visited. Today, it was my parent's turn. It's the second time they visit me after I won The Program, a month ago. The first time they came here, they didn't say a single word. My father stared at me with eyes of pure shame. Like if I was a failure, or better, if <em>he<em> was a failure for having created me in a way that made me become a killer. However, I could see the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Probably, his anger was just an act.

My mother could only cry. They left me a bouquet of roses, with "We love you. Come home soon." written on it. Then they left.

The second visit was much more rewarding. I could still see, no, I could still _feel_, the nervousness on their breaths, the way their gaze avoided my face and legs, the constant movement on their hands. But at least they said something. My father was still behind a glass barrier, and only asked me if I was OK. My mother was more emotional. She began crying and hugged me, ignoring that I was too surprised to hug her back. She told me that I was still her daughter despite everything, and that it wasn't my fault that everything happened. According to her, she still loves me. And I believe she's saying the truth.

My parents were always very protective of me. When they found out about my heart condition, all hell broke loose at home. For three days, they were openly fighting, not knowing what to do about the new problem and blaming each other for it. Dad even accused mom of having cheated on him with a work colleague, without any evidence or reason.

But things calmed down when they realized that there was nothing they could do about it. They just prohibited me from playing any sports and going to parties, since these two situations would give a lot of emotion and adrenaline, which could be fatal for me. I obeyed them. I didn't know the negative consequences those desperate measures would have on my life.

When they left me alone one more time, a few minutes ago, none of them looked back at me.

* * *

><p>After that incident on the race, my life was never the same. My social circle was reduced dramatically, since playing sports is one of the best ways to make friends in high school. And it made me get frustrated. I felt like a rock every time I looked at the other girls playing volleyball while I sat on the benches in absolute silence. I was depressed. There was no fun in saying anything to them. Soon, I was alone at school. My old friends moved to other schools or classes, or, after more interesting girls and potential boyfriends came into their lives, started to ignore me all together. It's amazing how popularity can change quickly.<p>

What made the worst of my brief time in high school, though, was the sudden change in my appearance. In a desperate attempt to eliminate my frustration and bitterness, I began to eat a lot after school. When I came home, I always made sure to get something from the fridge, be it a chocolate, soda, or sandwiches. At the school cafeteria, it was no different. Sitting alone, enraged with everything, I got whatever I wanted from the tray. Pizzas, burgers, fries, ice cream. While I ate those things, I felt extremely good. And soon after they were entirely in my stomach, my new friend, named depression, came back to haunt me.

I started getting fat. At first, no one noticed it but me, and to hide my shame, I began to wear long sleeved shirts and coats to school, even in hot days. That way, no one would see the fat accumulating in my stomach. I wanted to stop with my lifestyle, but my frustration did not let me; inside my head, something told me that I was worthless and useless, and did not deserved any friend. This voice convinced me that eating would be the only pleasure I would have in my entire life.

And so things turned out that way. After a few weeks of eating and not exercising, my parents began to complain about my weight. They told me to go on a diet urgently, and I pretended to obey them. But when they were not around, my old urges came back. Later, I usually regretted eating so much, and spent hours crying on my bed. I never suffered from an eating disorder, though: it was too disgusting for me.

And so three months went by, and soon a girl who had once been pretty and friendly became a fat doormat everyone liked to step on. Gradually, I began to feel the hostility in the school hallways, with many guys and girls staring at me like if I was a monster. As soon as I turned a corner, they began to talk again, obviously about me. However, I was never bullied. In my school, as in every other high school in the world, the ones who weren't able to fit in were ostracized and humiliated. It did not happen to me. Despite all of the unfriendliness, I was never laughed at, nor had my head shoved into a toilet. At the time, I thought the reason was my previous friendship to many of them. Until I remembered that they knew about my heart condition, and discovered the real reason.

My classmates pitied me.

* * *

><p>Everything is dark now. It's probably long past midnight, and there are only a couple of professionals in the hospital, doing their night shift. The air is quiet but heavy, and I can't see anything in the darkness that surrounds me. I should be asleep by now. But I am not. I just can't. I'm having long periods of insomnia since The Program, and when I finally manage to sleep, my mind plagues me with nightmares.<p>

My nightmares never make much sense. I can see that they are all related to what I went through, but not exactly_ how_. Many of them show images of death, blood, and destruction. However, those horrible images belong to unknown people, and I've never seen their deaths in the real world. Still, I'm not brave enough to describe what I see every single night.

Other nightmares show bizarre imagery. Skulls turning into butterflies, colors fading in and out, my own face melting and changing into something else, shattered photographs, broken hearts, burning musical instruments. And much more. I'm not as scared by all of this, since, sincerely, I don't know why I think about them.

Anyway, my dreams do not matter right now. What matters is that, as usual, I cannot sleep.

I stare at the dark ceiling, which I cannot see at all. In the dark, it looks like a giant abyss, ready to engulf and drag me at any moment. Suddenly, I see a shape at the center of it, like a giant mouth opening, showing it's bare teeth to me. I scream a little, and sweat begins to drip from my forehead. What is this, I ask myself?

Suddenly, the lights turn on. The light comes back for a few seconds, before disappearing again.

I try to leave the bed, before realizing that I cannot move my legs. The fear is beginning to dominate me. What if I'm still asleep trapped in a nightmare? Or worse, what If I'm still in The Program, and my victory is the real dream? No, it can't be. It just _can't_.

The light begins to flick.

The flickering gets faster, and now the world is white in one second, black on the other. I stare at the white door in front of me, asking, begging, for it to open and someone to come in. But nothing happens, the door remains closed, trapping me inside. I move my arms around frantically, and yell "Help!" several times. It's a useless effort; I cannot go anywhere without my legs. Now the lights are turning on and off constantly; I'm so afraid that I cannot even move my mouth.

Suddenly, the lights go out one more time. Permanently. The air feels ominous and menacing, suffocating. My heart begins beating faster.

When the light finally comes back, I cannot see the door. It's blocked by something absolutely terrifying. It's a pair of barefoot feet, white as Chinese porcelain, dangling in front of me. I try to scream, but the fear holds my mouth shut.

I look up and see a boy staring at me. His eyes are puffy and rolled upwards, his mouth is open and has bluish lips, and there's a rope tied on his neck, keeping him from falling. It's clear that he's already dead. Yet, he looks so _alive_ that I feel like he's about to slice my throat.

I scream. Again. Again. And again.

The door suddenly opens, and a nurse suddenly comes in. My entire body is shaking, I begin to convulse, and my throat utters gurgling, ear-piercing screams. I struggle against her arms, without any power to do otherwise. However, she's stronger than me, and manages to restrain me down, holding my left arm firmly. I can see a syringe on her hands, and before I'm able to protest, she injects my arm with its needle. I can only feel the rapid inching of the object, before being taken to a dark, dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>I once heard that people with red hair do not have souls. The person who made this lie up certainly never met Maureen.<p>

Her complete name was Maureen Daisy Westenra. Out of my entire class, she's the student I can remember the most. In fact, I remember pretty much everything about her. The names of her two younger brothers. How old her cat was.. How many freckles she had on her face. Every single detail of her life, every single word she ever said to me, every single time she smiled… I can remember them all.

Our friendship began because, temporarily, she became as much of an outcast as me. She was in the school's volleyball team, and was a mediocre player. Still, she managed to get very impressive when she wanted to, with some good points made scored here and there. One day, she broke her leg in practice, and was sent away crying. As usual, I was at the bleachers rooting for the team, and secretly desiring to play myself. When she began to scream, I felt sad, but did not know her enough to try to comfort her. The next week, she came to school in crutches, and since she could not play any longer, sat next to me during the team's practices.

After no less than four hours of constant chatting, we officially became friends. It was heaven.

Maureen wasn't one of the most attractive girls in school. If she was, I doubt she would have talked to me. However, she wasn't ugly either. Her red hair was always either in a braid or in a ponytail, and she wore small glasses. Being a redhead, her face and shoulders were covered by freckles. However, she never seemed to be ashamed of them, and had a beautiful face to boost. At least for me.

Maureen also had a pronounced accent, since she had been born and lived in Ireland until she was eight. Sometimes, when we went out for sleepovers, she told me that, when the next summer vacations began, she would go to Ireland to visit her relatives, and take me with her. When I heard that, I began to cry silently. She wasn't like the girls who befriended me in middle school, only to leave me alone because I got fat. She was a real friend.

We used to spend most, if not all, waking moments together. We went to Camden square to buy stuff several times, and even to the gym when we had enough time. When I complained about my weight, Maureen replied that I was beautiful and should never see myself as ugly, but in order to be healthy and make myself noted among my classmates, I would have to lose weight. According to her, it would be easy, and even if it took a long time, the results would pay off in the end.

Slowly, I began to abandon the unhealthy food I ate everyday. I replaced the traditional cheeseburger for fish, and removed the fries away from the everyday menu. Instead of drinking Coke, drinking juice became my priority. And I exercised as far as I could. Maureen took me for long walks every weekend, going past many neighborhoods by foot. Those exercises where fun to do, and even better when she was with me.

I began to lose weight. I'm still overweight, but certainly not as fat as I was before. I still didn't turn any heads at school, but some guys began talking to me, and sometimes even complimenting my clothes and style. I was feeling better, and maybe this burst of self-esteem was what made James come into my life. He was my first boyfriend, and will probably also be my last.

James Brehmer wasn't from my class. I met him completely out of luck, because I was doing a group project with a classmate who happened to be a friend of him. When I went to James friend's house, in order to finish the project, he was there, watching TV on the couch. I can't remember what he was watching, but I'll never forget his smile when he saw me for the first time. I could tell that he was interested. And as crazy as it was, when I left his friend's house after hours of talking, I began to like him as well.

James became my boyfriend two weeks later. I'm not sure if our date was planned by him to happen, or if it just happened by chance. On a Thursday after school, we began chatting with Maureen at the exit, and after she left, we went for dinner in a small restaurant next to it. I had forgotten about my homework completely, and most of all, was really hungry. We both ordered sandwiches, and even though we remained in silence while eating, it was clear that we were flirting. As a dessert, I thought about ordering a chocolate ice cream. He told me not to. According to him, there was something much better in the menu, made especially for me and more enjoyable than everything else. I asked him what it was, already knowing the answer.

Then his lips met mine. I never told him it was my first kiss.

The fact that the two of us were together raised a lot of controversy in my school's hallways. After all, he was a reasonably popular guy, who would have most of the beautiful girls at his feet if he decided to go for one. Some of his friends laughed at him behind his back, while the most popular girls became aggressive towards me. But I didn't care. They were all just jealous of me. Now I think the only person who was genuinely happy about our relationship was Maureen. On the day I told her James was my boyfriend, she smiled and told me it was just a matter of time.

High school relationships, though, never really last. After only three weeks of dating, James and I began arguing constantly. Our love was dying out even faster than it had come to life. Our common lives and activities did not match; he wanted to go out while I preferred to stay at home. Also, we disagreed all the time. He woke up in a bad state of mood and dragged me into it. Soon, we were boyfriend and girlfriend in name only.

Until finally, on a cloudy Saturday, I broke up with him. I came to his house and said everything I wanted to say, and that it was over. No other world was necessary. Both of his turned our backs to each other and parted ways. I wasn't able to sleep that night, and regretted the break up already on the next day.

* * *

><p>It's raining outside. Since the incident that led to my sedation, the nurses are paying more attention to me. They come in more often now, and try to calm me down in any way they can. Most times, it works. But I still have those visions. The images of the people I killed, or that I saw dying. They happen when I am awake, and always during the worst and most unexpected moments. The last one I had, when I saw the boy who hung himself, was actually the third time something like this happens.<p>

Maybe I'm going insane. If I am, it would be normal, I think. Many Program winners lose their minds completely. Some kill themselves. To be honest, only a very small minority of them manages to live a normal, healthy life after surviving through hell. Of course, some end up becoming national celebrities, but I'm not good looking enough for it. If anything, I'm just a statistic, just like my dead classmates. From the moment a new winner comes out of the game, almost a year from now, everyone will forget about me.

Although the rain is merciless, I still find it to be beautiful. Its drops look like tears on the window, and maybe even the sky is lamenting the tragedy of The Program. The people walking by are unaware of my troubles, but I can still know a lot about them. I pay attention to everything. The clothes they wear, the way they walk, the shape of their umbrellas. And I can't join them. I think I've never felt so lonely before.

I wonder how things could have been.

All of my efforts to lose weight have gone down the drain. Without any movement in my lower body and huge portions of food being served every day, I can only get fatter and fatter. Uglier, too. There's a mirror on the right side of my bed, and in it I can see my chubby, pale and burnt face, surrounded by wavy brown hair. No matter how much I try to smile, my gaze never becomes anything other than a sad, hurtful expression. Besides, what's the point of worrying about beauty right now? It's something so futile; we're all ugly after we get old. Maybe this is the only good lesson The Program brought to my life. When you are in the battlefield, teenage competition and popularity turn out to be the smallest of all problems.

I miss James, though. I was planning on going back to him, if it wasn't for the game. His smile always made me feel better. But these thoughts leave my head quickly. He didn't love me. If he did, he would have come for a visit. He only wanted to lose his virginity with someone who would be quick to accept him. And I was this fool. What did he think when he found out that I was selected, or better, than I had won? I will never know.

I turn my gaze away from the window, and think about Maureen. The girl who was my best and only friend. The girl who made me leave my shell. The girl who made my life so much more colorful.

God, she was an angel.

A single tear begins to fall down my left eye.

* * *

><p>March 23rd, 2011. The day when the world fell apart.<p>

It was just an assembly, I thought. Another one of those gatherings where the principal would tell us something new about sports or arts. That day, though, only my class could be there. I wondered why. As usual, I came there while talking to Maureen. And we both screamed when the lights of the theater suddenly went off. When the sleeping gas reached us, though, we didn't scream anymore.

I woke up in a classroom, feeling a huge weight on my neck and finding it difficult to breathe. When I turned around, in the middle of a lot of screams and confusion among my classmates, I realized that it was a metallic collar. I was fast to deduce that we were in The Program. Then I began to cry.

The teacher in front of us began explaining the rules, but I did not hear any of them. I was busier drowning in my own misery. Besides, I already knew what the rules were. Although I had never watched the game before, I had read about it on newspapers, which explained the rules. The only thing that I managed to capture was our location: a small city at the British countryside, which I couldn't remember the name.

Maureen was only two numbers after me. I was the girl number 24, and her, 25. We were the last ones to leave the class, and shivered in fear at the thought of potential killers waiting for us at the exit. Thankfully, nothing happened to us.

We quickly opened our bags. M y weapon was a useless spoon, but hers was much more rewarding. A flare gun, our only protection. After leaving the school, we roamed through the streets, searching for shelter and a small chance of satying alive. We didn't say a single word to each other. Instead, I used Maureen as a shoulder to cry on, and vice versa. How could we say anything? No words would capture the despair we faced in that moment.

When the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the sky, we found a good house that was miraculously open. We found some people during the night, some of them with guns, but since me and Maureen did not trust them in the slightest, we hid when they passed by. The result was that when we found the house, we became sheltered, but alone. No one was there to help us to survive.

From this point onwards, my memory begins to blurry. The doctor said that the human brain works exactly like this; it tries to hide bad memories, but they remain in the subconscious. Maybe this is the reason why I'm having so many nightmares. My mind wants to tell me something, knowing that I won't accept it.

We made it to the end of the first day with little to no confrontations. Maureen spent the last day of her life lying on the sofa and crossing out the names of the dead. She was much more affected by the announcements than me; while she was my only friend, Maureen had a couple more people in the playing field she used to hang out with. Therefore, her state of spirit quickly deteriorated after her other friends began to die one by one. In 24 hours, Maureen went from a bright and cheerful girl to a melancholic, empty human being. I tried to bring up her spirit, with no avail. She could see it through my face and know that, every time I said things would be alright, I was lying.

Then he came in.

His name was Karl Brumfield. He was, for the lack of better words, a Goth. No one in our class really seemed to like him. He was that type of depressive loner, who only wears black and constantly thinks and talks about death. Maybe this was why I let him in when he showed up at our window. He was interesting to me, and different from the others. I wasn't close to him, but he didn't seem to be the type who would harm a single fly. His weapon was a rope.

While I led him to the living room, Karl constantly talked about how useless my efforts to survive would be. According to him, we would all be dead in the next 24 hours, and so our role would be to accept that. I tried to ignore him, but he was too annoying. Part of me actually though the same, though. After an hour, Karl's presence got absolutely unbearable, and if I had Maureen's weapon, which was with her in the bedroom where she slept, I would have shot him. Finally, I politely told him to go fuck himself. He replied by calling me a fat cow.

I slapped him on the cheek, as hard as I could; but instead of fighting back, he ran upstairs, crying. He yelled and cursed at me, saying that he was going to kill himself and it would be my fault. I ignored him. I never took Goths seriously. For me, they were just boring people wanting to call attention.

30 minutes later, he still had not come back.

I went upstairs to investigate, and searched for Karl on the entire house. In vain. I was losing hope, when suddenly I found out that the closet door of the bedroom I was sleeping at was half open; I was sure that I had close it when I woke up. I opened the door and screamed at the top of my lungs.

Karl was inside the closet, hanging by the rope he had been assigned with. Much like how he is in my nightmares, his face was even paler than normal and his eyes were clearly bloodshot. His neck was so crooked that I knew that it was broken. I can still hear, inside of my ears, the thumping sound of his feet dangling in the air and hitting the closet's wall. I began to scream for Maureen, and she woke up.

When she saw the body, already broken by The Program, she FREAKED OUT. At first, she began to cry and insanely hug me, saying that we were going to die anyway. But when I said Karl had hung himself, she did not believe me. Instead, Maureen accused ME of killing him. I would think that she had betrayed me, if it wasn't for her eyes; the girl was already insane. Karl's death was the final blow that destroyed her mind. Suddenly, Maureen grabbed her flare gun, and began chasing me through the house.

She chased me through the hallway, tearing through every single barricade I tried to put in front of her. After a while, it became clear that she would catch up, and then burn me to death. However, my useless weapon prevented me from fighting back. When we were already close to the big staircase that led to the first floor, I turned around to look at her. Then she shot the flare gun at me.

The explosion of magnesium avoided my head, but barely. It hit the wal right next to me, but the hot temperatures completely burned half of my face. I can remember the pain, which felt like being caught in the middle of a volcanic eruption. I began to scream and fell to the floor, holding my ruined face within my hands. Maureen jumped on top of me. We were now right in front of the stairs. My heart was coming out of my chest again, threatening to kill me. But I stopped focusing on it when Maureen pointed the flare gun to my face.

In a desperate move, I kicked her in the stomach. And she fell.

What happened next is now and forever etched into my mind. Every single detail of my only friend's death passed through my eyes as slowly as a turtle. Maureen fell down the stairs, breaking her bones, her body shaking on every direction like a dancing spider. Her head slammed on every single pew, shattering her skull. Crunching noises filled the air, the noises of her neck breaking, and they kept ringing eternally until her body hit the floor with one last thump.

Maureen's eyes, white and dead, stared at me continuously. Her mouth was red and bloodied, and most of her teeth were broken and parted. Blood began flowing from her mouth and the back of her head, which had been cracked open by the force of the impact. In a few seconds, the flow of blood was big enough to make a small puddle around her head. Maureen's hands were rigid and as white as a teeth; she wouldn't get up again.

I looked at her body for minutes, but they felt like years. I had killed not only a person, but someone whom I loved and loved me back. My heart began to burn and its heat came to my throat, causing me to vomit and cry tears that were made of blood.

Then I lost my mind.

* * *

><p>I cannot remember anything that happened afterwards. Like a movie cutting a scene, my memory jumps back to the aftermath of The Program. People were praising me, and an entire crowd was saying that I was a great winner. I know that they were lying, since I only killed three people. And of course, I only heard what they said vaguely. I was being dragged to the hospital on a stretcher, already completely paralyzed.<p>

I don't know how much longer I'm going to stay in this prison. Isolated from society and secluded from everything. It feels like I'll stay here forever, until I get old and die. It would be a fair punishment. After all, no one wants me in society anymore, not even my lying parents. And since I killed Maureen and two more people, nothing stops me from killing more of them outside.

Again, it's time to sleep. But I can't. I'm too busy trying to remember the rest of the story, and why people were happy that a fat girl like me survived. I don't want to remember, but my curiosity is stronger than me. I just want to know the truth before I die. Why I became paralyzed, everything. If my destiny is to waste myself away and suffer from a slow death at the hands of old, bitchy nurses, so be it. But I cannot die as a blind woman.

I don't need to think about anything. My memories come right in front of me.

The lights get turned on by themselves, much like in the previous night. And what I see is much, much worse, than anything I could every dream of.

Karl's body is in front of me one more time, dangling to the ceiling and begging for me to join him. On the left side of the room, I can see Maureen's body, lying on a corner and glaring at me with mad, diabolic eyes. I can feel the intensity of her hatred, as if she wants to devour me alive. There are two more bodies in the room. One of them is next to Maureen's, and it's the body of a boy lying face down on the ground. There's a pool of blood around him. And on the right side of the room, reflected in the mirror, there is…

The fear blocks every single scream. My heartbeats block every single sound.

I can see a corpse that has been so destroyed that I cannot even see if it once was a boy or a girl. It does not have a face anymore, since it's crushed and caved inwards. Brain matter is clearly visible around the head, along with liters of blood. The chest is filled with stab wounds, more than fifteen I believe, which soak the chest in blood and rip the clothes into shreds. The lower body is completely black; it has been burned so badly that the legs seem like a match after its blow out. This figure is grotesque, completely unrecognizable and utterly despicable. If my body was still working properly, I would be vomiting by now.

The four dead bodies want me; I can feel it. They are crawling towards me, all four of them, more than ready to rip me into pieces and eat the remaining parts. Somewhere inside of my mind tells me they are not real, but if they are not then the real world also does not exist. They come closer and closer. Their putrid smells fill my nose.

My body begins to shut down, and my heart slows down. Suddenly, I remember what happened to me after I killed Maureen.

I faint and fall back on the bed, but not before I can still think a little more.

I want to die. I can't keep living like this. This is not a life.

Maybe I'm already dead.

* * *

><p>After Maureen was dead, my sanity was also killed. I became a zombie for a day, doing things completely by instinct and without any rationalization. There was nothing I could do to stop it, since my body became stronger than my mind. A few hours after I left the house, shaking in fear and insanity, I caught a boy standing in a narrow alley, with his back turned on me. There was no hesitation when I grabbed a knife I had found in the kitchen and slit his throat from ear to ear.<p>

I cannot remember that boy's name, but I do know everything else about him. He was the captain of the school's soccer team. He was popular with both the boys and the girls. He was a bit of a jerk. And after he stopped gurgling at the blood stopped flowing, he was dead. I grabbed his weapon, a hammer, and kept searching for more victims.

Since most people had guns at that point, I hid instead of getting into confrontations. I saw my classmates, people I had lived and had classes with for years, quickly turning into animals as savage as me. I hid into a house every time I saw someone who had a gun, only coming out after making sure that this person had left. I saw many corpses, some fresh and some already decomposing. They are still destroying the little sanity I still have. Two girls riddled with bullets from gunfire. A boy with most of his head destroyed by a gunshot. A girl sliced in half, her intestines exposed on the floor. A boy that had been burned alive and was nothing more than grilled mutilated meat.

Finally, I found someone I could kill. A blonde girl who did not seem to have any weapons, either by not getting any or by losing them in a fight. I took my chance, and before she could hit me and run away, shot at her legs with the flare gun. Her skirt suddenly caught fire, and she began screaming and begging for mercy. She tried to find water, but couldn't do it on time. She would soon die from smoke asphyxiation, but I wasn't satisfied yet. So while she was on the floor, unable to get up, I got closer and began to pound the hammer over her head. At the same time, my other hand stabbed her chest with the knife. She didn't last much longer after the first three or four blows, but I still kept destroying her body, possessed by a mad rage. And I was _laughing._ God, I was. Laughing and screaming wildly, begging the world to see the monster I was. Drops of blood fell over my face and clothes, staining both my body and my soul. I became a monster.

Suddenly, I heard a gunshot, and instantly felt an enormous pain tearing through my stomach. I had been shot in the back. Instantly, I stopped my delirious torture and lied next to that girl's body, unconscious. Had I remained conscious, the shooter would have emptied his gun into my head to be sure that I was dead. But he did not, and this is the reason why I'm still alive.

Before my world completely went to black, I heard the noises of more gunshots. Now I deduce that the person who shot me killed the other remaining contestant but succumbed to his wounds. Being the last person left alive in that city, I became the winner. Without even having to kill the last student remaining.

* * *

><p>The nurses have tied me to the bed. Now I can't move my arms as well. My large chest goes up and down with my breath, and seems to lose force and strength quickly. I hope it remains still soon.<p>

There's a needle inside of my right arm, connected to a cardiac machine. I look to my right, and see the white lines moving in the green surface, monitoring my heartbeat. Right now, my heart is slow, corrupted by stress and mental illness. It's close to stop, and I cannot hear it anymore. For the first time since The Program, I don't feel a heavy pressure on my chest. Now it's as light as a feather. I wonder why.

The room is again, very dark, but the moonlight makes me see the shapes of things. Specially the shadows on the wall. They are all human shaped, but strangely, I'm not as scared of them as I was before. They don't seem to be hostile, but rather, silent and passive. I don't know what they want from me.

I'm tired; exhausted even. Now that I remember what I did, I don't want to be in this world any longer. I don't deserve it. I'm a monster, end of story. And even if I become the next Mother Theresa, or discover the cure for cancer or HIV, nothing I do will be enough to redeem myself. Nothing.

I think about Maureen, and I forgive her. When she attacked me, she was just scared, just like all of them. She was never a monster like me, and I shouldn't have killed her. She didn't deserve to be killed.

Will she accept me where she is now?

The green machine next to me starts beeping. Increasingly. But I cannot turn my head to see what's happening, because my body is turning rigid and my arms are quickly getting weaker. A strange pressure builds up in my chest, and then begins to leave.

I hear voices.

They start softly, but quickly get louder. Many people are speaking to me at the same time, but I can identify all of them. All of my dead classmates, killed by me or not. No, more than that, James' voice is there too. I can hear al of the people I've met in my life. They talk to me, and I can identify each and every one of them. The boy I killed. The girl I killed. Karl. James. Maureen.

My breath is getting slower and slower, but my eyes are still open. I stare at the dark shadow on the wall, which suddenly turns into Maureen's figure, smiling at me. She's not the corpse that was lying at the bottom of the stairs. She's the person I never thought I would lose. With a weak, hoarse voice, I ask her if she forgives me. Her answer is yes. Then I ask if I can join her. Again, yes.

The beeping gets faster, and now I feel like I'm being pulled out of my body. Everything is quiet; I cannot hear a sound. I can't feel the bed I'm lying at, and my vision blurs and fades on itself, until it turns completely white.

I close my eyes.

Now I know how dying feels like.

No different than falling asleep.


End file.
